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The Bimbofication of
Tokunbo Afolabi: From Mature Matron to Beautiful Babe!

B.R.
Eastman

Copyright
2017

All
characters depicted in sexual situations in this publication are
eighteen years of age or older.

These
stories are about fictional consenting adults engaging in taboo and
controversial sexual acts. Nobody involved in the creation of this
ebook, including authors, editors and models, support immoral or
illegal acts in real life. Cover models are not intended to
illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models'
actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior.

"That is not a fair
price, do not be ridiculous," Tokunbo said. She crossed her arms
over her red and yellow abaya. She scowled at the man.

"It
is what that woman over there has offered me."

"Then
buy her rotten onions and leave me in peace," Tokunbo said. She
kept her face flat and expressionless. She knew she'd make the sale.
She just needed to hold out. He was trying to talk her down, to buy
her quality onions at the same price as though cheap, withered, old
vegetables at the stall across the way.

The
man scowled right back at her. "The woman over there is nicer as
well."

"You
may keep your observations to yourself."

"Fine."
He handed over the naira at the price Tokunbo had quoted him. Tokunbo
didn't smile until he was gone. She thought smiling would ruin it,
would make him feel he had lost this negotiation -- which was true,
that was why she needed to avoid rubbing it in. He wouldn't come back
again if he thought he had lost out.

She
sold onions in her market stall. That was all, just onions, and only
one variety too. She had been raised to believe it was best to
specialize in doing one thing perfectly. She and her family -- three
young sons who were back on the farm now -- had been growing onions,
and nothing else, for many years. The smell of an onion plant was
permanently ensconced in her nose and would never leave. Tokunbo knew
everything about the plant and how it grew, that was what made her
such an excellent saleswoman. She knew the product. She furthermore-

Tokunbo
stopped moving and sucked in her breath. The woman in the market
stall across the way was Arewa Olatunabe, and she sold onions as well
as carrots and other vegetables. She was stupid and corpulent and she
sold nasty vegetables that she didn't even grow, she bought them from
a different merchant.

Tokunbo
hated her. She hated the way she shook her ass when she walked,
bringing men by the dozen to talk to her. They hit on her only
because she was loose with men and profligate with her fortune. It
was shameful, Tokunbo thought.

Not
that Tokunbo wanted to be hit on by more men, she wasn't jealous. She
was happy being a widow. But she was shocked when she looked over to
Arewa's stall because she saw a man.

He
was the most ungodly dreamy man she had ever seen. He was tall, with
shoulders like an ox, perfectly rounded facial features like he had
been created by a sculptor and smooth skin that was taut over toned
muscles. He wasn't huge like a bodybuilder, but his muscles bulged
against his skin.

"Hello,
Tokunbo! How is business today?" Arewa called out across the
way. Then she wrapped her arms around the man. His chest muscles
rippled. "Take your shirt off, Matanmi."

The
man Matanmi took his shirt off, and Tokunbo was struck with desire.
She had never in her life seen a man that made her feel like that.
Even her late husband, she had loved, yet he didn't make her swoon
like that, he had never been as handsome as Matanmi, never had a body
like a Nollywood star.

How
did Arewa get a man like Matanmi anyway? She was a widow as well,
some thirty years older than Matanmi. She was fat and fleshy and
heavy, and not in a good way, with a face blotchy with marks, and she
smelled like urine. Or that was what Tokunbo always thought anyway.

Over
the course of the next couple of hours, it became clear why Matanmi
was with her. He grimaced a little when they hugged and she couldn't
see his face. He avoided looking at her. He winced when she touched
his bare chest in the crowded stall.

It
was the money. She was a wealthy businesswoman -- or relatively so,
anyway, she was wealthier than probably any of the other vendors in
this market. Her family owned several stalls. She was the matriarch,
so she was in charge of it all.

Tokunbo
would need money like that to land a man like Matanmi as well.

Not
that she was looking for a man. When her husband died years ago,
Tokunbo had almost
sworn she would never be with another man. She couldn't promise
herself that; it might be necessary to save the farm, for example.
But with three boys, she thought she could manage as a widow. So she
had promised to herself that she would try to never find a new man.
She didn't need a husband anyway. Men, she had long thought, were
mostly useless, aside from procreation.

Matanmi might have some
uses.

She watched the sunlight
gleam on his sweat-dappled skin. Matanmi milled about in the stall,
lifting crates of vegetables when needed but otherwise doing little
more than tantalizing her.

"How's your man,
Tokunbo? Didn't you get... Oh, right, you still don't have a man,"
Arewa said with a smirk.

"You are a shame to
your husband," Tokunbo said back. "He is cursing you from
the grave now."